Dying Flame
by Myrime
Summary: They weren't invincible. They burned and fell and died. And in the end, they didn't change one damned thing. - The First Order. Because behind the names of the fallen war "heroes" were people with ideals and fears and dreams. They weren't meant to be forgotten.
1. Marlene

Dying Flame

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_Strange how there is always a little more inncocence left to lose._  
(Outsider)

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They were young and they were invincible – until they fell.

In school it seemed like a great adventure: a secret Order, an easy chance to make their life mean something. So when the call came, they traded their golden futures for a few moments of false glory.

It was like a fire and, oh yes, they were seen, but they burned, bright and hot, and their flight was short and hurt far more than it was ever worth it.

They were meant to be glorious, but in the end they were everything but. They were children, waving around their weapons like new-found toys, acting brave and being so very oblivious to their world falling apart.

How could they not win?, they asked. And when the last of them was lowered in a cold, too-early grave, that question was still unanswered (and not all of them died, but sometimes living is worse than death, and seeing that their sacrifices were in vain, they almost wished they had, for what had they done to deserve seeing their world burn down twice?)

They all dealt with bad news and bitter realizations in their own way, keeping their heads held high and their minds ready for the next blow. And they all believed in something to keep them sane.

(And they wouldn't admit that they were terrified, for they were young, _invincible_.)

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_i_

Marlene used that perfect red mouth of hers to laugh and curse and joke.

She was beautiful and she didn't give a damn. The scars edged into her skin made her proud, because they showed that she had fought and won (she could never admit that every scar showed a lost battle, too, for then her picture-perfect mask would shatter and what would be left of her without it?)

She danced in battle, looking like a queen of old, her skin glowing, a burning fire in her eyes.

She didn't hesitate and she didn't pity, slashing and dodging as if she'd never done anything else.

As if she hadn't been a little girl once, with blonde pigtails, sitting on her father's knees, begging for just one more story, another hero's tale (only now did she know that heroes were but broken men, broken wings and broken hearts.)

As if she hadn't been a dressed-up teenager once, sneaking to the Astronomy Tower after curfew to see some boy she was undyingly in love with (but she couldn't love anymore, now that caring meant getting hurt.)

As if she hadn't been afraid of darkness before everything around them became dark.

(Now she just didn't care because she was stubborn above anything else, and she wouldn't give up.)

She laughed when Lily scolded Sirius for bringing her cigarettes, not knowing that she had been the one to give him his first (because they were something to hold on to).

When the boys bet she couldn't empty that bottle of Odgen's finest, she proved them wrong (how couldn't they know that the burning liquid was so much better than hurting from within, and who wouldn't want some sweet hours of oblivion, afterwards?)

She was the perfect partner for Black, mocking their enemies on the battlefield (to silence the screams rising in their throats), and clinging onto each other at night while pretending to do everything but (he understood, because he was just as messed up).

They didn't love each other and she wasn't sure she could. But he was there and nothing else mattered (for she never believed in invincibility).

She was young and she knew she would die, so she laughed and cursed and joked, because she wouldn't go down broken.

(Only in the end she did, for her family was all that still mattered and it just wasn't fair that they had to share her fate, for they never chose to die like she did.)

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Next up: Benjy

Hope you liked it. If so - or not - tell me.


	2. Benjy

_ii_

Benjy wasn't a fighter.

Well, he _did_ fight, and bloody well at that, but he didn't live for the thrill of it like Marlene or Sirius. He was quiet and cautious and he still believed that everyone was worth saving (oh how blind he had been, how naïve).

He had his very own set of rules, never straying far from his ideals (in a hopeless attempt to not lose himself), making up plans and back-up plans (no matter that they always failed), never following that '_shoot first, ask later_'-policy (instead he held out his hand for everyone who was willing to listen). And he didn't enjoy taking enemies down, he rather mourned another soul lost (they were only children on the wrong path, after all).

His friends said that, someday, he would lose his head, because he thought too much when their task was clear, he tried too much to save people who were already beyond hope. They laughed about his tries (and they craved his words, for when he believed that their foes could be saved, maybe it wasn't too late for them, too).

He didn't mind, because despite all his naivety he knew them (and feared for them) and saw their struggle (all of them were too far gone) and found all the right words to make their smiles a little bit less strained, their hearts a little bit less broken (and still they couldn't be saved).

And when they were drunk and forgot to put on their masks of indifference and ignorance, they called him a saint (a cursed one), the only really _good_ person among them (good, bad, they were all dying) because he was at least trying, unlike them who jumped readily into the abyss before them (but he always followed).

He knew they were wrong (because whom had he saved?) but he smiled and nodded and did his best to pretend their world wasn't already broken beyond repair.

And he hated nobody but himself, because they couldn't see they were wrong, but he did, and he couldn't help them because he was just cursed like that.

When his own end came he didn't even really try to fight, knowing he didn't deserve any better (because he was just as bad as everyone else, and being good had only been a lie he had hung onto to try to stay sane).

He was blown to pieces (and he found it oddly comforting because he hadn't been whole for a long time, and was there a better way to die in a world falling apart than sharing its fate?)

They had always said that, someday, he would lose his head (and he would have laughed, but it all went too fast) and he died like he had lived: silent and not changing one damned thing.

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I'm not all that happy with this one...

Anyway, next up: Dorcas

Thanks for reading!


	3. Dorcas

Thanks to **UschiBuschi** for reviewing! Glad you liked it.

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iii

Dorcas found beauty in everything around her, in dreams and ideals, in voices and faces, smiles and tears (in death, too).

In school her class mates used to laugh about her, but eventually they stopped, growing to appreciate that she was able to overlook ever-growing ruin of their world (she was also pretty good with her wand, and didn't those curses have pretty colours, too).

With eleven she had been called _mudblood_ (bad word, ugly word) and that was when she knew, she would join whatever resistance there was to defend her own place (and to maim and kill and vanish those who dared to stain her picture-perfect dream of life) and she fought fiercely for this wondrous world (though darkness had its own beauty, only not for her to find).

She reached for perfection in all she did, her moves a flawless choreography (stab and slice and kill), her words clear and punctuated (_bombada,_ and _everbero_ and _decapitatum_), her work an art of its own (empty eyes as blue as the sky, ivory bones broken and twisted, and shining crimson to show that their blood wasn't purer than hers).

She started painting when her head was filled with image (bad ones, threatening to overlay all that was good) and her lines were straight and her colours true and she poured her soul into every single piece. (And she never showed them to anyone, but burned them as soon as the paint had dried, for how could she find beauty in their falling world when her pictured held more of it than the reality she tried so hard to save?)

The only piece of art she carried out for everyone to see was her mask (and how careful it was constructed), bright smile and eyes filled with wonder, scars hidden deep within (how long had it been that she truly was herself? But then again, who was?)

In the end she admired the vibrant green coming at her, cast by the master of death himself (would her bones be ivory and her blood perfect crimson), and there was beauty in her death – swift and painless (and way too soon for she young and there was still so much to do and see).

But she fell smiling (she only regretted not leaving anything beautiful of her own behind.)

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Been away hiking so the update came a bit late.

Next up: Mary (and that will be a short one again, but I like it better)


	4. Mary

Thanks to **thechangeofseasons** for favouriting ;-)

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iv

Mary MacDonald embodied innocence.

With her big eyes, sweet smile and lovely voice she was all their every-day life was not.

She was small and childlike (they were all children but no one remembered that) and though she had a fire of her own (harsh and ugly and unforgiving) they all went out of their way to keep her safe.

It was annoying at times, to be confined at headquarters, not knowing who would come back (if anyone did), but she learned to appreciate their care.

She trained to become a healer to do her part and try to save the others in turn (in truth, the thought of fighting at the front line frightened her to no end) and so she waited to tend to their wounds (how she hated scars) and calm their minds (how good she became at faking smiles).

It was obvious that they needed her whole and sane and safe, because if they could protect her, maybe they could even protect themselves, if they brought her through all this unscathed (she laughed at that), maybe there was hope for them, too.

She was their constant reminder of what they fought for, so what else could she have done than playing her part. That was, after all, what all of them did.

So she smiled and toled all the bitter-sweet lies she could think of: _It's okay. We'll be all right. There was nothing we could have done. It will be over soon._

And they believed her, because she was innocent and if they couldn't then what was left to believe in?

If she lied, they were doomed. If she was broken, they were beyond hope. If she died, they had already lost.

They sent her away. To safety, they said (what a farce), away from blood and death and despair (it was already in her head but they didn't know that).

She raised her voice (and it wasn't lovely at all), demanding they stop that nonsense, allowing them a glimpse at the person she'd become (not innocent at all anymore).

They didn't see, so she went away. (They all knew about sacrifices.)

She tried to come back, not long after (not knowing how they fared was far worse than seeing them die), but she was a healer, not a fighter, so her end shouldn't have come as a surprise.

(Left shoulder shattered, five rips broken, skull cracked from the fall, hole in the abdomen, deep slash across right hip, twenty-three minor cuts, fist-big burn on chest, internal bleeding -)

They left her lying in the mud (and her blood really took on its color, seeping out), not bothering with a killing blow, but she was beyond caring (she was scared), she knew it wouldn't be long now.

So she died, her big eyes hollow, staring into the falling night, her smile long gone and her voice forever silenced.

Her friends didn't know she was here, dying.

(They didn't know innocence was lost.)

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Okay, next up: Edgar Bones

I'll be away for the next three weeks, so the update may take a while. Somehow I doubt that there will be wifi in the african national parks I'm going to visit. But if I'll have the chance, I'll update, of course.

Anyway, have fun, and thanks for reading (and reviewing?!)


	5. Edgar

Thanks to **LunaPadma** for favouriting!

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v

Edgar Bones was a just man, kind and always willing to have mercy for those who regretted their way.

He was also _slightly_ over-protective of his family, and didn't hesitate to take down those who wished them harm (killing them, bear-like hands stealing their breath, deep voice calling thunder and death down upon them).

He hated the war with a passion, hated the darkness his children were born into (he'd go after every single Death Eater on his own if it would only bring them peace).

Still he was willing to listen and to judge just (who was he to decide over life and death?) and offer redemption (though you can't make up for murder, can you?).

He had to, for how could he ever look into his son's eyes again (hero-worship he didn't deserve), if he became like them? How could he tell his daughter stories about doing the right thing, if he himself did not? How could he tell his wife of his deeds (hunting and fighting), if they contradicted everything he ever preached?

He made a point in never judging anyone in who their parents were or whom their siblings followed (never trusted them, either).

Black was a good person, no matter how many lives his crazy cousin had taken (still he watched him).

He believed in free will and second chances (what a fool he was).

They called him mad (he was) when he let that boy go (Crouch, all knew his father) who vowed he never wanted to join the dark side (he never saw the gleam in those eyes).

They called him too good for this world (too bad, too) and shook their heads and slapped his back and said they were glad that at least one of them had some decency left (he wanted to believe them so desperately).

In the end it was his downfall, being just and giving second chances.

They came (he had waited for so long), the Crouch boy he had saved right in the front (deep down he had known). And they weren't merciful and they judged his children on who their father was and he couldn't help them because they made him watch the slaughter (oh how he regretted the path he had taken) and when the boy finally turned to him (how he wished he had killed them all) he started laughing, knowing all the while he wouldn't go down easy.

(And while he cursed his false sense of justice, because, really, what place had it in their world where brothers turned on each other and mercy was long lost, he still hoped he had changed things for the better. Then again, he had always known what a fool he was.)

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So, I'm back from Africa (and already on the computer again, tse ;-) )

Next up: Fabian and Gideon


	6. Fabian and Gideon

Thanks to **arsehatter** for favouriting and following and **xpurebloodprofilersx** for following!

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vi

Fabian and Gideon were the spark in the upcoming darkness, full of laughter and practical jokes to get their friends smiling again (other than Sirius and Marlene who only did so to keep their own minds off _things_).

There were times they were as bitter as everyone else, fighting to keep the upper hand, to not give up despite everything falling apart, but it wasn't in their nature to stay down.

They weren't identical twins, neither in looks nor character.

Fabian's eyes were a shade lighter, his grin wider, his voice louder. He was the reckless one, seeking danger where he went (and bringing it home), full of out-crying bravado.

Gideon's smile was sweeter, his looks more gentle. He was more cautious, more tactical, making plans and trying to stick to them (only life never gave him a chance), always searching for solutions to every possible and impossible problem.

It was on the battlefield that they changed character

Together they excelled at dueling, knowing each other's every move and thought, trusting there was always someone to watch their backs.

But here, Gideon didn't make compromises, he wasn't gentle and sweet (furious, unforgiving). Whoever dared to threaten his family's lives was taken down (killed and maimed and blown to thousands of little pieces of the scum they really were).

Both stood their ground, never giving an inch, but he didn't let anyone get away (hunting them down, perfecting the art of leaving no one behind).

The others smiled about their antics (thankful for every saved life), the over-protective brother and the danger-seeking one, and were glad the twins were on their side, with all their explosives (so you don't have to look into your enemy's eyes) and creative traps (luring them into death) and vengeful energy.

They stopped smiling when Dorcas died and Fabian went mad (engagement ring still hidden in his pocket) and Gideon disappeared for days only to come back bloody and desperate and so very angry (because killing those responsible didn't turn her back to life and it didn't bring back the light into his brother's eyes or filled the gaping holes inside his own chest).

It didn't take them long to follow her (seeking death as much as it sought them) for Gideon wasn't cautious anymore and Fabian just didn't care.

There wasn't a spark left in them, they had been burning, too hot and too fast, and now they were only ashes and cold regret (and when they smiled it was the feral smile of a predator looking at its prey).

They didn't go down without a fight, taking out a faceless, nameless mass of black cloaks and white masks, but they didn't fight for the cause anymore and not to survive.

It was just the only thing left to do (and if their 'courage' would make some of their companions smile, no matter how bitter, that was just as good).

Fabian fell first (careless, life wiped out in a moment's notice), despite Gideon's promise to take care of him (and somehow that was all right because nothing had turned out as it was supposed to be).

In the end, they weren't laughter and jokes anymore, just two small boys who weren't made for the bitterness that surrounded them. And still, Gideon smiled as he finally followed his brother, because they had lived together and died together (and they did go out with a bang).

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So, now I'm truly (and unfortunately) back from my holidays, so updates should come more regularly again.  
Therefore, next up: Caradoc Dearborn.

Hope you like it. And, as always, reviews are much appreciated!


	7. Caradoc

vii

Caradoc Dearborn was his own man. Silence was his weapon, shadows his cloak.

He hadn't been invited into the Order, he simply walked in one day, his face void of any emotion, bringing truth of his worth (the arm was bloody, still slightly warm and the Mark was glowing).

No one ever doubted his abilities or loyalty, despite never seeing him fight alongside them.

He worked alone, always getting the job done (no questions asked) and he didn't fraternize (they had to know that caring meant getting hurt).

He liked being invisible, it meant staying safe, the perfect way to find out everything he needed (and to strike when least expected) and, most of all, it allowed him to be himself. There's no need to act and hide when he isn't seen.

And, oh, how much he wanted to keep himself whole and true and – himself.

The war had taken so much from all of them already, so that really wasn't too much to as, was it?

He never told anyone his story (reliving it every night was hard enough), never shared his reasons to join their fight, his fears (blood and pain and – really, what wasn't there to fear), his hopes (even knowing they wouldn't come true), why he gave all of his life for the cause.

Death didn't seem to mean anything to him (he knew it all to well), attacks never surprised him (he was waiting for them every step of the way), no wound managed to hurt him, no matter how deep (what else was his body than a mean to try to right some wrongs that had befallen their world?).

But he was his own man, not allowing himself to bow to somebody else's rules, always fighting on his own terms, changing the game until it fitted him perfectly.

He carved the scars out of his skin, making them his own, not able to live with marks on his body that pointed out his failures, his weaknesses, his not-being-good-enough. So he made them disappear under his own, hiding them in plain sight until only he himself knew their stories.

He learned much too late that, in war, everybody loses himself (that made him fall deep into the abyss he had tried so hard to avoid).

He realized that, no matter how hard he had worked to become invisible, despair had fought him and caught him and changed him (and hurt him and broke him and took everything he called his own) and he knew he wasn't his own man anymore, hadn't been for far too long.

But he was anything if not thorough. So the last scar to remove was he himself.

He went out one day and didn't come back, disappearing at last (and he thought they wouldn't miss him, because he had never really been _there_, but they did and they hurt because they had cared. And he had been his own man, but he had been theirs just as much and his death was a scar on their consciousness, proudly shown to the world, but he would have never understood that because he had only ever tried to be invisible. And hadn't that been his downfall?)

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Next up: James

A review would make my day! Thanks for reading.


	8. James

A big thank you to **HPC** for all the wonderful reviews and theories and being a pure genius ;-)

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viii

James was filled with impatient recklessness (he called it courage but, really, they all knew better)

He just felt that he needed to do _something_ and that made him restless (and restlessness got people killed).

When they were introduced into the Order, he didn't see it as an honor (to die for their world), but as the perfect opportunity to do what he thought was right (and he never had any illusions, even though sometimes he wished he had, because living would have been much easier without knowing the end was coming up fast).

Lily understood (and hoped and prayed and fought alongside him, trying in vain to keep him safe) and he was glad (knowing he would have it done all the same if she didn't) and he said it was all for her (and it was just as much for him because he would have never been happy with merely playing Quidditch).

He loved her with all he'd got, thanking whatever God there was that she had finally given in to his pleas. For as much as he cherished his fellow Marauders, they were too much like him, taking their place in their fight as if it were natural for young boys to throw their lives away for a cause so much bigger than them (oh, they doubted and wailed at the injustice of it all, but they never considered running away).

They defended their rightful place in their world (whatever that meant when all it did was killing them).

Lily was different. She fought to _gain_ her place (and that impressed him more than her beauty or temper or intelligence).

In a way, she was so much more courageous than him (not reckless, just plain brave), giving up everything to belong to a world that did its best to drive her out (and it made him furious, for how couldn't they see how perfect, how _golden_ she was?)

So he was always in the front line, jumping into danger wherever It presented itself to him, never seeming to tire for there was always another battle to be fought (and not being there hurt even more than losing, because, maybe, he could have changed something, saved someone, or at least it stopped the constant nagging doubts in the back of his mind, telling him they were already dead).

Hearing the prophecy destroyed something deep inside of him (hope, faith, his will, to go on).

It meant they were fighting (_dying_) in vain.

There might come someone to destroy the descending darkness (and he was scared to lose that child he didn't even know yet), but all they did was buying time (with their lives), keeping the enemy occupied, so that – maybe – salvation could come.

It wasn't fair (and he knew nothing was) and it wasn't right.

Their cause was a lost one because they were never meant to win.

What was his courage worth when he couldn't change a thing?

He hated being confined to his house and not being able to be out there, standing beside his brothers and sisters in misery (no matter the hopelessness of their fight).

He hated seeing his little son growing and laughing and beginning to live, while knowing what waited for him (because even if he might not be their 'saviour' – oh how he hated fate and prophecies – he was still born into a world of war) and not being able to save him, because, goddammit, what could he do if their lives were already planned out and doomed to fail?

Part of him was glad when Death knocked on his door (thought betrayal burned inside of him) and when he blocked his path, he realized it wasn't courage that drove him (he _knew_ he was going to die and, really, what else was there to do?)

They all had to play their part, so he teased Voldemort, and fought without ever having a chance and bought time with his life, just like he had done since he had stumbled into this whole mess.

And he was impatient for it to be over (and then he hated himself for that thought, because there was still his family to be kept safe).

He died hoping his son would have the chance to live the life he never got (and he prayed he'd never have to fight, but he knew that was futile, because he knew they were all just pieces in a game none of them could change).

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Next will be Frank.

Hope you like it. Please review!


	9. Frank

ix

Frank was loyal until the very end.

He had chosen his side, his friends and family, and no matter what was still to come, he would stick to it and fight for it (and die for it).

His father had always joked he was a born Hufflepuff. His mother only ever snorted in disgust at that (and he agreed with her, for throwing himself head over heels into a war like theirs was undeniably Gryffindor). But despite all their mockery they were proud of him because they didn't raise a coward only looking for his own best interest.

And so he stood tall and proud, unwavering like the proverbial tower of strength.

He was loyal, and he resented everyone trying to take the easy way out.

When rumours said there was a traitor in their midst, he was furious.

Who dared use their trust and condemn them to hell and death? Who sold out their lives only to save his own?

(They were all damned, anyway.)

He knew the times were bad and darkness was closing in and every new day destroyed their hopes a bit more. And he knew they were most likely not getting out of this alive (and even surviving didn't mean living).

But they had chosen their way, they had built up the resistance to defend their world.

Betrayal wasn't something he could ever consider to forgive (and he welcomed the fury inside him, for it gave him all the strength he needed to go on, for while he'd never stop fighting, he was so very close to losing faith; and without faith, how could he be loyal? and he was so afraid of becoming just another numb machine, killing everyone getting in his way because they were labeled 'enemy').

The prophecy broke him even more, for how could he keep his family safe from something that was beyond his power to change?

How could he fight against fate?

He still didn't waver and did what he could and fought and killed and _hid_ when it was needed (and he thought that he failed his friends when he ran to stay in safety, but it was the right thing to do for his family, and didn't he always prize himself for doing that?)

He was loyal until the very end. And when that end finally came (they thought they were free) it was bitter and real and permanent (and so very unfair and wrong).

He stood tall against the enemy and he fell and he lost so much more than he was ever ready to give (but it was his sanity for the life of his son, so wasn't that worth it?)

He lost himself and everything he had ever prided himself to be, he lost his future and the right to die on his own terms, he lost his purpose and the opportunity to see his son grow (and cry and fear and break).

Oh, he did see his son and they shared smiles and hugs, but it were the same hugs he gave Nurse Alison when dinner was good.

He didn't recognize his child, or the beautiful woman in the bed next to his, who had been the love of his life, who he had wanted to keep safe and whole (and sane).

Sometimes when he looked at her, he had that strong urge to hold her in his arms, to protect her from everything bad in the world, but then he would see the clean white walls of their home and wondered why he would think such a thing.

She smiled and she was happy and she hummed all those sweet melodies that warmed his heart and there was nothing they could possibly be afraid of (and he would never find out what all those bad dreams meant and the screams in his head and the echo of pain and that word that was always floating in the back of his mind: _loyalty_. Why did it always make him feel like he had failed at something so very important?)

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Next: Lily.

Thank you for reading. And a review would make my day!


	10. Lily

Thanks again to **HCP **for the wonderful reviews!

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x

Lily was filled with burning determination, always ready to defend what she held dear, willing to tear down every lie and wall of pureblood-prejudices to show her worth (she avoided of thinking about how well that had worked with her own sister).

Ever since she had met Sev (another thing she avoided thinking about) at the playground of her perfectly normal home, her world had turned into one of wonders and impossibilities come true and the feeling of magic running through her veins (burning, every time she killed, like ice, every time she lost) was so very beautiful, that she never thought twice about taking her place in the Order.

(She was just so scared about meeting _him_ out there on a battlefield, for how could she ever contemplate fighting her first magical friend, no matter that he wouldn't even look at her these days?)

And James, of course, was always by her side. He knew she wouldn't allow herself to be hidden away (also she did know some vicious curses), so he protected her at all costs.

She felt loved, and after years of trying to win back her oh-so-normal sister, she finally felt comfortable enough to accept that new family of hers, so she couldn't just let that vanish into darkness again. She had always been top of her class (never knowing whom she needed to prove her worth to), and now it was time to put her knowledge to good use (oh, how they trembled before her rage, killing-curse-green eyes cutting as much as her spells).

When she found out that she was pregnant, she panicked, (James was so ridiculously happy), asking herself how she could bring a child into this torn world, how she, who had always praised herself to be intelligent and responsible, be so very _ir_responsible.

Then she heard the prophecy and it was like she had already failed her baby, failed to protect what she loved (and she thought that her sister had been right, after all, she was a disappointment, unworthy, never good enough).

She went into hiding without complaint, having lost the determination that had driven her all her life (what did she ever change).

She hid and played house-wife and cared for her son (and her heart cried out for the blood of those who wanted to harm him, but there was nothing she could do).

When Voldemort came, she never hesitated to step into the monster's way, finally willing again to do whatever was necessary.

(And she pleaded with him, begged him to spare Harry's life, knowing all the while he wouldn't and she hated herself for not being strong enough, for not being able to kill the man who had destroyed the family she loved so much. But she defied him and she died, never knowing she did defeat him all the same. And she proved herself, and she saved her world. Still, her son suffered, so, what was it worth?)

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Next: Alice

Thanks for reading. Please review!


	11. Alice

Thanks to **thechangeofseasons**, **shatteredxo** and **HCP** for your reviews! You make me happy!

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xi

Alice was driven by love.

She had never been as courageous or reckless or rash as her housemates but she found it easy to open her heart to those around her (and close it just as fast) and defend them with all she had.

She longed for the harmony that had been shattered by the upcoming darkness, driving children to hate each other, to fight (and kill), judging people based on their blood, not on their hearts, without ever giving them a chance.

But she had sworn to herself to keep her chosen family safe, the boys and girls and men and women, the leaders and healers and soldiers (the killers and long-lost souls and fools who thought they could save their world).

Her will was of iron and her shields never wavered and she gladly put herself into harm's way to protect those she called her own.

They always scolded her for openly risking her life (although they had to know that that was better than seeing _them_ hurt).

When she got pregnant she became only more fierce, her defense even more spotless, her curses more lethal (and her determination killed all that was left of her conscience, for who were those utter _bastards_ to threaten her child?)

She wasn't surprised by the prophecy, nor shocked or put out (afraid, yes, but was there anything not to be afraid of?). Some part of her had always known they never had a chance (but she could have never said that out loud, for that would have meant admitting that she had failed, and what would her life have been worth then?) They were fighting a war they couldn't win (and were never meant to because they were only children, believing they could change something for the better).

She always suppressed her doubts, not allowing them to manifest and weaken her and thereby hurting her friends.

She loved their world, she loved her fellow Order members and family, and she loved her life.

Nothing was to destroy this, no one was to threaten what was precious to her (but they did and they ripped out her heart and shredded it, more and more with every defeat and scar and loss).

They were slowly driven back (dying one by one) and darkness closed them in (killing them from the inside) and she was driving herself crazy for she couldn't just accept her helplessness.

For everyone she saved, two others died. For everyone she killed, three others came to wreak havoc.

And then she was supposed to hide (and let them die) to protect the possible saviour of their lost cause (not that there would be anything left to save if they didn't help).

But she went and she hoped and she fought her very own battles within (losing all the same).

When it wasn't her son who was chosen, she was glad, but she wasn't relieved, for they were all her family and she loved them just as much (and Harry was just another soul she could never save).

Then Lestrange came and she stood tall and stepped into harm's way and fought, knowing full well she never had a chance, but that didn't matter because her life might just buy the seconds needed to save those she loved.

And how she loved her husband and son, so much that it hurt almost as much as the endless _Crucio_s wrecking her broken body and in that last moment before her mind shattered she saw flames turning green and help arrived and she was happy and she never regretted a thing because she had only done what she had sworn to do.

(Only that it wasn't enough because she should have known that Frank would never willingly leave her side, but at least they were together, so she thought it kind of was alright.)

In the end there was just the memory of pain and bittersweet oblivion.

She held the hand of the boy looking so much like herself, smiling and hurting all the same, for their was that burning sensation in her heart that she could never name, although it was always there, disturbing the perfect nothingness that was her mind (because even all-but-dead she just couldn't stop loving him).

* * *

They were young and they thought they were invincible.

Life taught them they weren't. Death taught them nothing was.

Not laughter or faith, beauty or innocence, justice or trust, independence or courage, loyalty or determination or love.

All gone, all taken, all shattered to never be retrieved again.

They still believed in those stupid children's rules (_The heroes don't die. And in the end, Light triumphs. Always._) so is it really a wonder they fell?

Not all of them died, of course. There were those brave souls who kept breathing, not dead, but not really living either, trying to piece back together what was left to them. And when the call came, the second war, the second abyss to swallow them whole, they stood tall and raised their weapons and their hearts beat for all those that were lost.

History says they have won. It describes the wonderful new society, that was built on the ashes of the one they tried to defend. It calls them saviours and heroes.

Those that were there know better.

They were children and they fought a war so much bigger than them, and they didn't back down, no matter how much they were losing. Maybe that qualifies as being heroic. Maybe it was good and right and the only thing to do.

But it was their downfall. It was ugly and painful and devastating. It ripped out their hearts and destroyed all they could have been.

(And still, they would do it again.)

* * *

There it is. The last chapter. That said, I might be swayed to write more if anyone wants.

So, leave a review, and thanks for reading.


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